She'd Never See Him Again
by i wished on her star
Summary: If she hadn’t gone out for her evening smoke she never would have found him on her balcony. ONESHOT for now.


So as a theatre student I know when you are going to be portraying a character you need to know as much about them as possible including what they were doing before that scene and so on.

But I don't know why Victor would possibly be so down & out… this broken… when I figure that out I will write a story about that… a sort of… prequel.

AU, OOC, OC, Liev Schreiber's portrayal, Marvel's character, I do NOT own him.

Intended to be a ONESHOT. That's why there's hardly any description of her.

**EDIT: I feel like a tease doing this, I really am sorry, but until I feel i have an adequate story (I've been saying "what the hell" as I go along) this will regress into it's oneshot form. I'm sorry for any inconvenience but this is still a possibility. It may just remain a oneshot forever.**

**Be on the lookout for a new oneshot about our favorite Victor Creed coming soon (in character this time).**

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He had to run. Couldn't look back. Wouldn't stop.

When he thought he'd run far enough he did, however, pause to catch his breath. Mind you, it didn't take long because he could heal quickly, and he was pretty in-shape, but still, why rush when you had such a lovely view? He figured this balcony facing the entire city was not the safest place for someone like him, but the cloak of night had masked his flee to this suburban setting.

The wind bit against his nose and cheeks. It was crisp and smelled of Autumn leaves and pine. He looked out to the cloudless sky and yet could only see a couple of the constellations he'd learned about as a boy. Light pollution. He was far from home here, he knew it.

He heard the slide of metal on metal and, expecting a fight, wheeled about to face a young woman.

She was not paying attention, putting a cigarette to her lips. Her other hand held a cell phone to her ear. She snorted and began to say something when she glanced up and froze.

"I have to go," she waited for no reply and shut the phone.

He watched her tense as he relaxed slightly. She was no match for him, slender and short – barely meeting his fuzzy chin. Just about ready to turn and continue his run from the law, he heard a meek "wait." Was that directed at him? He opened his mouth to speak only to be nullified by a slightly stronger :"don't. It doesn't matter."

She took a couple cautious steps toward him, stuffing the unlit fag back into its box, all the while gauging his reaction. When he balled his hands into fists and slumped his shoulders she reached out for him.

"Come on," she commanded as she grabbed him by the crook of his elbow. Without making a sound he complied, letting himself be pulled into the small apartment. She dragged Victor over to her kitchen sink; she must have noticed the day's worth of grime on his fingers. She made to grab his hand and he recoiled. No. She would not see his claws.  
She wouldn't be so understanding then.

She exhaled an exasperated sigh. Victor looked away not wanting to see her face tight with frustration. She palmed his cheek and turned his face toward her, his gaze lowering to meet hers. She saw eyes darkened by a past. A long one.  
An unforgiving one.

His eyes snapped to her hand as it trailed down his neck, over his shoulder, and down his coated arm until it came to a stop on top of his. Her fingers curled around his opening his fist; her thumb running across his knuckles. She was still watching his face until her gaze flashed to his hands to confirm what she had just felt. His nails were claw-like, sharp. Cracked and bleeding where the bases met his flesh.  
Dirty.

She understood. In that instant she knew why his wary eyes held such a solemn glaze. He was troubled, not to mention, it couldn't have been easy growing up so different. She'd always led a pretty normal life. No complaints. But knew what others went through at her schools for so many years, and at her office nowadays. Others like him.  
Mutants.

"What's your name?" She looked back up into his face, hand still holding on strong to his. "Out of line… sorry…" His expression didn't change in the slightest. She pulled him up next to her at the sink and, with her free hand, turned it on. She dropped his hand into the warm stream before she pumped some soap into her palm. He had brought his other hand up to rest on the lip of the sink when she turned around and grabbed them, massaging his fingers with the soap. Complacent, Victor watched her.  
She was touching him.  
No fear.

When his hands were cleaned to her satisfaction she led him to her kitchen table and made him take a seat before walking over to her fridge to grab her leftover pizza she'd ordered earlier. It was late after all. If she hadn't gone out for her evening smoke, she never would have found him on her balcony.

The pizza was a meat lover's and, while she felt judgmental, she assumed he'd like that. She stuck the whole box into her microwave and leaned on the counter to watch him. Victor sat with his now-clean hands on the table concentrating on them. He must have finally decided that they were okay and he looked up to meet her honey eyes. She had been scrutinizing him.  
He hated that.

The microwave beeped and she whipped about to open the door and retrieve the pizza. She took it over and set it down in front of him where his hands had been not even a second earlier. She motioned for him to eat as she glanced behind her to make sure her seat was there. She sat down, put her elbows on the table, clasped her hands together, and rested her chin on them. Victor had picked up a piece and begun eating. She was scrutinizing him again. He was suddenly relieved he hadn't just torn into the thing like an animal.

She watched his pronounced canines cut through the crust as he finished the first piece. No fear.  
He picked up another slice.

By the time he had finished the box she'd gotten up to do other things. Victor stayed planted. This was not his element. He had no idea what to do.

It was almost as if she had sensed his uneasiness because at that very moment she swung around the doorframe. Holding a toothbrush. His raised an eyebrow. She smirked and beckoned him to her with a finger. He slowly stood and padded toward her. The bathroom. She set the toothbrush down on the edge of the sink next to the paste.

"You can take a shower – if you want." She pointed to the towel rack that held an extra guest towel, then moved her finger to the toilet where some clothes sat. She simply said, "They're my ex's. They may fit - " Her eyes once-overed him, "- they may not." He almost laughed. "I'll wash yours if you toss them out," and with that she left him standing alone in the overly white room.

Victor shut the door and started to remove his soiled clothes. They piled on the floor and he turned on the water before kicking them out the door.

She sat at the table and smiled pleasantly when the clothes appeared outside her bathroom. She hadn't expected him to take her up on her offer – but what did she know? She stood and gathered the clothes in her arms.  
She audibly laughed.

There on top of the pile sat his boxers. Not surprisingly black like everything else, but still surprisingly there. She had pegged him for the commando type… even if he had worn anything she hadn't expected him the toss them out too… oh well. Better go start a load so they would be clean and dry for him when he decided to leave. And he would leave.  
Without a word.

He looked up into to stream of water pounding his body then around the shower only to find he was surrounded by pink and purple bottles. He squinted to read them. Strawberry and lavender. Damn. Just then his eyes roved over a bar of soap. Saved. He wouldn't have to smell like this woman who was so inexplicably kind to him. Wouldn't have to be reminded of this weak point in his life.

She shut the lid to the washer and figured she better go make herself a bed for the night. She lifted the pullout part of her couch out and unfolded it revealing the thin mattress – if you could even call it that. It already had a bottom sheet on it so she walked to the linen closet, next to the bathroom, to grab a top sheet and blanket. Startled because the door hit her slender back, she turned around to see him standing there wearing the clothes she had left for him. She hadn't heard the water shut off. She smiled. The shirt was a little tight. The pants however, looked like they fit fine. His short hair still held onto a couple drops of water.

Arms full of fabric, she led him to her room. "You can sleep in here. It isn't much, but I think it's comfy." Victor was flabbergasted. He'd expected to take the couch and there he was being offered a warm bed. He smiled at her, a gently curving smile. He wouldn't turn that down. She left him alone again in a too white room, this time with a few navy blue accents. It was relatively empty save for a few knickknacks here and there, a TV, and a full sized bed of course. The remote was lying on top of the turned-down sheets and he wondered if that was normal for her. Victor decided not to question.  
What did he know about normal?

She finished making her bed and went to go put his clothes in the dryer. She took out her last load, threw it on top of the dryer, and cleaned out the lint trap before replacing it with his small pile of clothes. Putting on a pair of pajama pants and a tank top before she walked out she wondered what she'd do while his clothes were drying. It would be rude to not have them waiting for him when he was ready to scat. A book on the shelf in the living room caught her eye. Watchers at the Strait Gate. Ah, she'd been meaning to read that. She quickly snatched it up before getting herself settled between the sheets on the couch.

She awoke some odd hours later still clutching the book. Startled to find she'd fallen asleep, she got up to investigate. So much for being rude, she supposed. The dryer was empty.

So was the lint trap.

Her bed was also empty.

The clothes she had lent him were folded neatly at the foot and her sheets were turned down; the remote precisely where it had been. The only things out of place were the toothbrush, which was gone, and the curtains that were gently billowing from the breeze of the open door to the balcony.

He was gone.

She'd never see him again.

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Thanks for reading! Tell me what I need to work on!

Watchers at the Strait Gate is by Russell Kirk.


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